


Crimes

by Ischa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about growing up to be another person's everything.<br/><i>Sometimes when Dean has a few quiet minutes to himself and his mind isn't numbed enough with cheap whisky he thinks (he knows, he <i>knows</i>) that Dad did something so fucking horrible to him that there aren't even words for it. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimes

**Title:** Crimes  
 **Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Summary:** This is a story about growing up to be another person's everything.  
 _Sometimes when Dean has a few quiet minutes to himself and his mind isn't numbed enough with cheap whisky he thinks (he knows, he _knows_ ) that Dad did something so fucking horrible to him that there aren't even words for it. _  
**Warning(s):** mentions of sex, no dialogue, Dean's pov  
 **Author’s Notes:** For demondean.  
 **Word Count:** 1.037  
 **Beta:** asm_z  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real

\--+--  
~Three~

Dean knew from an early age that their family didn't play by the rules. Not by other people's rules, not by the society's rules. In retrospective he thinks he didn't should have known that that earlier in his life.  
He is sure Sam figured it out even earlier than Dean had. Even if Dean did everything he could not to let Sam know. God knows Dad didn't try to hide anything except what he always seemed to hide.  
So, to tell the truth, he and Sam weren't only raised to be hunters, they were raised to be criminals.  
It's not that ugly, but it's not a pretty truth either. It's life and it's the only life they had, the only one they know and more important maybe: the only one they know how to lead to its fullest.  
So, crime is an everyday thing for them both. Stealing, of course. Sam was only thirteen when he stole his first car. It was to help Dean out, sure, but it was still stealing a car. They didn't get caught, because they seldom do – they are just that fucking good.  
Hustling pool – Dean is better at it, but he taught Sam everything he knew and at that time he was pretty fucking proud of them both. It was a stupid, childish pride, long gone now.  
There isn't anything they haven't done.  
And everything they did was in the name of a greater good – or that's the tale Dad liked to tell them. Later when they were older and could understand (tried to understand) what Dad was doing and why.

~+~  
Sometimes when Dean has a few quiet minutes to himself and his mind isn't numbed enough with cheap whisky he thinks (he knows, he _knows_ ) that Dad did something so fucking horrible to him that there aren't even words for it.  
Everything Dean is now was shaped by the words: 'Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!' There was no way Dean could have looked back. There was no sense in looking back either. Everything he knew was ashes. Every bridge to a normal (to his normal life) burned. Dean took care of Sammy because Dad told him to and it was the only thing Dad let him do. He was good at it and Sammy (Sam) was the core of his world.  
Even later (years, decades) Sam was the core. The centre of everything that was important, that happened in Dean's life. Everything that had the potential for epic disaster.  
These words he said to Dean in that night, these words were not the first crime or the last, but Dean is sure it was the biggest.  
It just wasn't fair to make them like this. To make them that co-dependent.

 

~Two~  
Dean felt like shit when Sam left to be a lawyer. Dad didn't talk about it. At all. It was like he didn't even have a second son.  
Sometimes Dean wondered if Dad maybe blamed Sam for everything that happened to them, if he blamed Sam for Mom's death.  
It wasn't fair. He knew, deep down he knew, that Dad didn't blame either of them.  
But Dad wasn't Dad to them for a long time. The closest they had to a father was Bobby. Dad was only, mostly, _Sir_.  
Dean knew he cared, in a detached way. Maybe it was more like he tried to care, but he was too obsessed with finding that thing that killed Mom and Dean knew (Sam too) that he would die trying.

~+~  
Another thing Dean learned was that they just didn't talk about it. Whatever 'it' was at the moment. Dad taught him (them) a lot of things. Useful things, of course. But Dad never was (because no one is) impeccable. He never taught his kids how to share what was inside. The rage, the fear, the hidden things in their minds and hearts that ate them alive.  
Sometimes Dean wonders if Dad didn't know how to teach them, didn't know that they had it inside, or if he just didn't care. Didn't have the time to deal with things like emotions that went beyond rage and hate for the things they hunted.

 

~One~  
Dean left a trail of broken hearts on his way all over the country. There wasn't much love left for anyone who wasn't Sam. He never put it like that in his head (in his more sane hours), but it was the truth.  
Every time he said 'I love you' (he didn't often, true, but it happened once or twice – usually during really great sex or after) he lied. There were a few people he would kill for. No problem, he learned to kill at a young age – it was second nature by now. But there was only one human being on the entire planet he would die for. That's how Dean knew.

~+~  
It was unhealthy and wrong, as well.  
The thing was, they never lived by other people's rules. They didn't even know how. Sam was long beyond that point. It died with Jess. Burned to ashes. The last bridge to a normal life. The last exit. Dean is sure he never had even seen the exit door from this life to another, a normal life. It was shut in his face before he even realised it was there at all.  
He doesn't dwell on it.  
So, they don’t play by the fucking rules of society, but it doesn’t mean that they don’t play by some kind of rules.  
The biggest one, the last one, the only one (if he was honest for a second and Dean tried not to be, that way lies madness) was that it felt so right. It was the only thing that made sense at all.  
The rush of blood under torn skin. Moments of heat and loss and hunts gone wrong, people dying. The only comfort: skin on skin, slick with blood and sweat. Pain, pleasure, guilt.  
It was a cosmic joke, really, if he thought about it (put it into context with sanity) that the biggest crime would be love.

~end~


End file.
